day job

My thirty day holiday flew by, leaving me with memories of sandy beaches, roaring waves and happy times. (Next post will contain pictures!) I’ll try to cling to them while I’m being wrapped up in my day tot day life.

I often write about memories, not only actual ones but also the mechanism.

How memories are triggered by smell. How they get mixed up. How they blur, why they are forgotten and why they sometimes come back. It fascinates me. I’m blessed with a decent memory, although I have a thing for remembering non-important facts: the striped socks I wore on my seventh birthday/phonenumbers from my childhood friends/ the shape of an island when I was on a holiday years ago (it was shaped like a turtle) .

Anyway I’m back home, getting back in ‘normal’ mode. I’m starting a new job next month, school starts again next week. I’ve got loads of writing to get back to. But I’m not going to push myself or put pressure on it. I’m going to (try to) enjoy it.

Because happy isn’t a goal to be reached, it’s a moment. And if you’re lucky it will become a long-lasting memory.

Like this:

I always had the idea I was going to be a writer. When daydreaming instead of writing I still picture myself sitting at a wooden table, with a window overseeing a secret garden, cat near the laptop, dog at my feet, words coming from everywhere.

This, however, is not reality (not mine anyway).

I have a day job and a ton of other obligations (a relationship, a house, kids, friends and so on) and I used to believe this was the reason I wasn’t writing. But waiting for the perfect circumstances is giving yourself an excuse for not doing what you want to do. And this was exactly what I was doing: making excuses.

The real reason I wasn’t writing is fear. I’m afraid that if I try, I fail.

This is kind of stupid. Because if I don’t try, I’ve failed already. Fear shows me what I’m most passionate about. I don’t fear my day job, because I don’t care about it enough. Fear is showing me exactly which path I’m supposed to take. Not the obvious one with zero obstacles, but the one with the looming shadows and whispers in the dark.

I know which one will make a better story.

The conclusion is that if I want to be a writer I’ll have to:

A. Write

B. Survive day job

Point A speaks for itself but the second might need some explanation. I don’t like my job, I won’t go as far as to say I hate it, but still. The point is that I need to stop wasting time and energy worrying about it and I’ll have to put it in a more positive light.

So I listed the perks of having a day job. Here goes:

A monthly pay-check, for basic life needs but also for doing fun things, eating good stuff and going places (I’m a big fan of having fun/eating/travel).

A work schedule which forces me to create more of a schedule to write.

An answer to the most common of questions without having to mumble something about wanting to write novels. The dreaded“So wat do you do for a living?”.

Seeing people in everyday life (better known as: stealing parts of their life for fictional use).